“I’m good at what I do,” Felix adds. “I know the fighters, I know the stakes, and I know how to keep people alive in this world. That matters to me. More than going back to a name I don’t recognize anymore.”
Malachi nods slowly, jaw tight. “You’re not just a name. You’re my brother.”
Felix’s gaze softens. “That’s why I know you’ll get it.”
It’s quiet for a beat. Just the sound of the warehouse creaking around us and the far-off hum of voices echoing through the halls. I shift slightly closer to Malachi, my shoulder brushing his, grounding him and maybe me too.
Then Amelia speaks. “I want to go home.” Everyone turns toward her.
She’s been silent since the hug, arms wrapped tight across her stomach, holding herself together by sheer will. But her voice is steady now, her eyes clear. There’s a stillness in her, the kind that comes after surviving something that should’ve broken you.
“I want to see Maggie,” she says. “And James. I want to sleep in a bed that doesn’t smell like bleach and fear. I want to breathe without looking over my shoulder.” Her gaze flicks to Malachi. “I want my big brother to walk me home.”
Malachi’s breath stutters, and I swear something in my chest folds in on itself. His fingers twitch near mine, not tightening, not pulling away just there, trembling at the edge of contact he doesn’t trust himself to make.
“I’ll take you,” he whispers.
Phoenix glances at her just once, just enough to check for hesitation, but when he sees none, he nods. Quiet approval. Silent goodbye.
“No one will stop you,” Phoenix says. “We’ll get you out clean. She’s under my protection until she’s under yours.”
It hits me then how different these two siblings are.
Jared, no, Felix, chose fire and shadows and war. Amelia is choosing light. Family. A life she barely remembers but still reaches for with the instinct of something embedded in her bones.
And both choices are brave.
Malachi takes a step closer to his sister, gently cupping the back of her head as he leans in. “You sure?”
Amelia nods, eyes shining. “I’m sure.”
The way his shoulders ease just slightly wrecks me. Her answer unlocks a breath he’s been holding for years. He’s carried her absence as a wound that refused to close, and now, maybe, the bleeding is finally slowing.
I stay quiet, watching the pieces fall into place. Watching a family come back together in ways that don’t erase the damagebut honor it. Their scars don’t match, but they still belong to each other.
When Malachi reaches for my hand, threading his fingers through mine without looking, I squeeze back. Not just for him. But for all of us.
Because somehow, in the middle of this broken place built on survival, violence, and secrets, we found something real. And that’s worth holding on to.
Theridebackisquiet at first. Not tense. Not awkward. Just... quiet.
The kind of silence that comes after something big breaks open and you’re still trying to breathe around the pieces. I sit in the back of the sleek black town car beside Amelia, watching the glow of Savannah’s streetlights slide across her face. Her head rests against the window, eyes half-lidded, body folded in the posture of someone who’s been holding tension for too long and doesn’t quite know how to let go.
Phoenix arranged the car. No explanation, no conversation, just a quiet word to someone outside that locked room, and five minutes later, a driver was waiting. Malachi had already swung a leg over his bike, jaw tight, eyes darker than the night sky. He said he needed the air. I didn’t argue. He needed space, needed time to process. Maybe, deep down, I needed this too. Just me and her.
I watch her from the corner of my eye. She’s beautiful, but there’s a weariness in her that feels older than her body. She carries the weight of too many lives lived inside too little time.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
She turns to me, her lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. “I think so. Are you?”
I let out a breath. “I don’t know.”
Another pause stretches between us, this one thicker, heavier.
“I didn’t think he was alive,” she says after a moment. “Kai. I thought when Cornelius died, he did too.” Her voice is barely a whisper, the truth still unsettled on her tongue.
“I’m glad you were wrong,” I murmur.
